


seventy years of sleep

by hellbeast



Series: i'll never forget you (this is my only joy) [4]
Category: The Broken Earth Series - N. K. Jemisin
Genre: An Affectionate Dihedron, Barely Canon-Compliant, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbeast/pseuds/hellbeast
Summary: You thought Alabaster was done showing you new things. New sides and pieces of himself.





	seventy years of sleep

> I think we deserve
> 
> a soft epilogue, my love.
> 
> We are good people
> 
> and we’ve suffered enough.
> 
> — _seventy years of sleep_ , nikka ursula

* * *

You watch Alabaster tremble, and something unpleasant curls in your stomach.

If someone were to ask you, _how long have you known him?_ , you would have to clamp down on the reflexive, exasperated response of _years_ and the accompanying roll of your eyes. But. That’s not true, is it? In reality, you’ve only know ‘Baster—insane bastard that he is—for some fourteen odd months. Only a few months, and you’ve come a long way from hating him, hating everything he stands for. Everything that he is and that you aren’t.

He doesn’t do it on purpose, you’ve come to realize. Alabaster just _is_ , and he doesn’t shy away from the truth of what he is and what he can do. The extent of his orogeny is _terrifying_ and he does nothing to hide it, nothing at all to soften his monstrosity, unlike every other orogene, Fulcrum-trained or not. You’ve gotten used to him—or, at least, you’re more acclimated to his bullshit than most others—and when he’s not pissing you off, he fills you with nothing but awe, on that thin line between horrifying and deistic.

Watching him now, as he lifts one hand up to cup Innon’s jaw, looking so rusting _vulnerable_ —it. Discomforts you.

In your mind, Alabaster is a lot of things. Annoyingly perceptive, when you least want to hear it. Insane, in more than one way, and terribly reckless. Oh, make no mistake, his orogeny is precise, and his skills are far beyond anything you could have ever imagined an orogene to be capable of. But Alabaster doesn’t care about his own life, or yours, and you think that he would gladly ice the earth thrice over to achieve whatever his lofty goals are.

He’s merciless, too. He’d been unrelenting when he prodded at you and prodded at you and shoved the ugly truth of the world in your face, and then gave you next to no time to adjust to it. You hated him a little, for that.

You don’t hate him anymore, not now. You could almost like him, the Alabaster that you’ve come to know.

But that Alabaster, the Alabaster in your mind, isn't... this. This soft, trembling thing. Not with you. You know that he prefers men, he told you that, about Hessionite, but still. It was never something you gave a lot of thought, seeing as the two of you were stuck, together and miserable. You’re thinking about it now, though, as you watch him look up at Innon and shiver, soft-eyed and pliant, like. Like some blushing—

It's weird. Uncomfortable. New.

You thought Alabaster was done showing you new things. New sides and pieces of himself.

(You're not sure that you want to see them. You're not sure that you want him to gain that kind of depth. You were just getting used to what you _thought_ he was.)

He isn't showing _you_ , though, not really. He's showing Innon.

That small, petty, part of you—you know the one—is sulking. You've gone for what feels like a lifetime being the only object of 'Baster's attention. But now, Innon.

Beautiful Innon, who wants you both, in the same terrifying, flattering way. Gentle Innon, who for all his size, lays one brown hand against the deeper black of Alabaster's cheek and holds him close as he whimpers.

 _Whimpers_. What the rusting **fuck** , Alabaster.

You want to take him by the shoulders and shake, because wasn't he the one who's been telling you time and again—since the day the two of you met—that vulnerability means death? You thought that you'd seen him at his lowest, at the node station, on the highroad to Allia. Both times he'd been grief and fury and you honestly hadn't been sure that he would be able to come back from that without saying fuck it, and icing everything in sight.

But now you're watching him fall apart in Innon's hands, shaking and eyes wet with tears and jaw clenched so hard that you can hear his teeth protesting under the strain.

But, another part of you wonders, is this really weakness?

It is, but it isn't. It's _trust_ ; he trusts you not to use this softness against him and if you were brave enough, maybe you would find yourself contemplating the idea of letting yourself be equally vulnerable.

With Innon between you, you could perhaps come to find that trust is fine blade of strength and vulnerability both. You and Alabaster haven’t touched each other since arriving on Meov, since you’ve been free of the invisible specter of the Fulcrum hanging over you both, and its mandates. You could, a small part of you thinks with hope, you _could_ …

(You won't. Or well, you did then. You will, then. Now. This was—is—before, and though you thought of yourself as invulnerable, as steady as your name, you were still young, and willing to believe that love was something you could hold in the crater of your palms and cherish.

Then.

You and I both know that you don't know how to be that way anymore. Not now. Not after.)

"Ssh," Innon murmurs, and you can feel the buzz of his voice through the mattress.

"Hush now," he says, and brings his hand to palm the back of Alabaster's head, gentle.

Alabaster says something, but all you can make out is a choked sob, something gasped and unintelligible through his tears.

Innon apparently understands, though—and yes, some part of you grows immeasurably jealous at that—because he responds, "It's alright. I have you."

Your skin prickles with discomfort. You aren't quite ready to accept the vulnerability that Alabaster has laid before you, let alone even think about reciprocating it. You make sure that when you speak, your tone is dry:

"Do you want me to leave?"

Alabaster flinches and you are hard pressed not to echo. Innon looks at you, and the softness to his gaze never once wavers. He wants you to stay, you realize. He wants you both, truly. But Innon doesn't speak up. Because you and he both know that it's up to Alabaster.

You would leave, if 'Baster told you to. Some part of you would grieve and another part of you would loathe, but you would do it. You know that Alabaster has so little to hold on to that isn't hatred. So few things that matter to him. You've seen the way he looks at Innon. 

You're free of the Fulcrum, or close enough. The Fulcrum, the Guardians, the missions, the mandates, the endless _rules_ … they've all driven Alabaster to the brink, leaving him precariously balanced along that fine edge. He deserves this chance with Innon, this chance to love and be loved in return, without living in fear for his life, for his freedom.

(You do, too. I know, you don't believe me. And you wouldn't have then, either.

You're not as good at being selfish as you think, you know.)

It would hurt. But if he asked—

"No," Alabaster rasps, so quiet that for a moment you think you imagined it. But no, Innon’s smile grows, even as he leans down over Alabaster and sweeps him into a kiss.

Alabaster makes a noise like he's dying, most of his body bracketed beneath Innon's. His hands grasp at Innon's back, fingers hooked like claws even as he moans and sighs into the kiss. Innon chuckles, and you watch him deepen the kiss, his head tilting and one hand rising up to hold Alabaster's chin.

Alabaster is the one who breaks the kiss, drawing back like it hurts to do so, eyes fluttering and breath labored. Innon finally lets his fingers drop from Alabaster's chin and Alabaster sighs.

"Stay, Syen,” he says, voice a little stronger. He finally glances your way, a furtive thing, cautious in a way you didn’t know he could be. "Please."

It’s the please that gets you in the end. Alabaster rarely asks for anything, and never so politely.

You stay.

**Author's Note:**

>  _the stone sky_ is coming out tomorrow and to prepare myself for what is probably gonna be me, screaming forever, have this old thing that i may or may not polish up later (pun not entirely intended)


End file.
